


The Mess Inside

by little_murmaider



Series: I Hope You Die. I Hope We Both Die. [1]
Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Dethcamp Coda, Kinda sorta Nickles if you so choose to view it that way, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Recreational Drug Use, Skwisgaar Toki and Murderface are also there but they don't get a line so they don't get a tag, Things did not end well, Tumblr request
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-20 19:43:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10669509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_murmaider/pseuds/little_murmaider
Summary: While fetching Toki from camp, Nathan unearths a part of his past he’d rather keep buried.





	The Mess Inside

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PaxVobis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaxVobis/gifts).



**_Did you call me from a seance? You are from a past life. Hope you’re doing well, bruh._** **–Nights, Frank Ocean**  
  
The six of them cut an uncomfortable silhouette on that agonizing walk back to the van. Toki, oblivious to the withering glowers of his bandmates, would _not_ stop yammering about what a _great pal_ Magnus was. Wasn’t it _so cool_ the way he jumped in with Toki’s insulin, and _wow_ he’d been in _so many_ bands, and why didn’t anybody _tell him_ there was another Dethklok guitarist before him, they never tell him _anything_!  
  
Magnus didn’t miss the scowls, of course. He even seemed to relish them, throwing an arm around Toki's shoulders as Nathan seethed. He looked old. Too old to still bother with that get up. Button your shirt, you goddamn hippie, it’s called professionalism. The wisps of grey in his hair and beard didn’t help. He couldn’t shill out for a box dye? How much could one box of Just For Men cost, $10? What was this garbage camp paying him, anyway? Nathan wanted to deck him so bad. He was still bursting with adrenaline from kicking the shit out of that snot-nose kid. One punch was all he needed. Lights out.  
  
Pickles, perhaps sensing this, walked between them, a diminutive human shield. He feigned interest in Toki’s gushing, murmuring _uh-huhs_ and _yeeahs_ , prompting him more than once to walk faster. When they reached the van, _finally_ , Murderface and Skwisgaar piled in, Skwisgaar yanking Toki inside by the elbow. Toki kept shouting at Magnus to _call him, whenever, he had his number, find him on SnapChat, follow him on Kik, his Bitmoji is wearing a Ghostbusters uniform and it’s really_ –Nathan cut him off as he slammed the door shut, Toki’s muffled yelps scarcely audible.  
  
“Welllllllllllp, alla this was terrible,” Pickles said, reaching for the passenger-side door. “Magnus. Seein’ ya has been...an experience. Hava nice life. Nat’an?”  
  
Nathan hung back, arms crossed. Magnus smirked as he slouched against the vehicle.  
  
“In a minute.”  
  
Pickles glanced between the two, frowning. He released the door handle and scuffled closer to Nathan, still watching Magnus over his shoulder.  
  
“Nate, c’mahn, he’s naht worth it.”  
  
“It’s fine,” he said, pushing him toward the van. “I’m not...Get in. This won’t take long.”  
  
Pickles lingered a beat, his glare steady and strong. He walked backwards to the car to maintain eye contact. Giving a two-finger salute, he open the door and climbed in. When the door clicked shut Magnus withdrew a joint from behind his ear. He lit up and inhaled, the skunky stench of weed wafting between them. For such a stoner, Magnus was _terrible_ at finding good pot. He scanned Nathan, from his shoulders to his feet and back up again.  
  
"Looks like you've been enjoying the fruits of your labors," he said, the joint bobbing between his teeth.  
  
"Oh, a crack about my weight, _nice._ "  
  
Magnus offered a half shrug. "Just making an observation. You look _healthy_."  
  
"Real original."  
  
"It’s _not_ healthy to let your insecurities cloud your perceptions, though."  
  
“And you know what, I _am_ enjoying myself. I'm a fucking billionaire. How do you like slumming it, asshole?"  
  
Magnus exhaled a huge puff of smoke. “Is this considered slumming?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Sharing my craft with the youth of America? Appreciating nature? Finding time to work on my own stuff–”  
  
“I’m sure you have _plenty_ of time to work on your _stuff_ ,” Nathan bit, cocking his head. “Tons. An overabundance, some might say.”  
  
The distant woods thrummed with the sound of cicadas. Magnus touched his canine tooth with the tip of his tongue. He raised his hand to his mouth. The bright ember of his joint illuminated as he sucked in, hard. Smoke unfurled snake-like from his nostrils.  
  
“Don’t you have to get back to your mansion in the sky, billionaire?” he asked, raspy. Nathan tilted his head back, taking in the black, cloudless sky.  
  
“Listen. If Toki wants to hang around some ancient never-was that's his prerogative. But don't pull any of your usual shit with him. Alright?”  
  
“My _usual_ shit?” He pumped his eyebrows and sneered. “What might that be?  
  
“Oh, off the top of my head _hrrrrrrrrrnnnnnnnnn_ if you could **not stab him** that would be **peachy**. Thank you. Goodbye forever.”  
  
He turned on his heel, digging through his robe pocket for his keys. He was satisfied with the interaction. Mostly. Some punching would have been nice. Lack of punching notwithstanding, he was content to leave Magnus behind, just as he had all those years ago. A throaty, derisive chuckle gave him pause. He sighed.  
  
“What?”  
  
"So you're fucking _him_ now, huh?"  
  
"Oh my **GoddddddDDDDDDDDD**."  
  
"Just working your way through the band, trynaaaaa," he closed his bad eye and tapped his thumb to his index finger, making a clicking noise with his mouth, “ _fill up_ your punch card, as it were?”  
  
Nathan whirled, stomping back to Magnus’s spot.  
  
"Every time. It comes back to this _every_ time."  
  
"Let's see, first it was me. Then **Pickles**.”  
  
“How are you still fixated on this? You’ve really got _nothing else_ going on?”  
  
“Assuming you're going in age order that would mean Murderface was next." He hunched forward, speaking low out of the side of his mouth. "Bet you rubbed that one out real quick."  
  
"You wanna talk about insecurities, try looking in a mirror. A mirror that...specifically reflects insecurities..."  
  
"Then Skwisgaar, _that_ must have been a good time, probably taught you a load of new tricks. And now my replacement. How fitting.” He raised both arms as though he were nailed to a cross. “The alpha and the omega.”  
  
“God, you’re insufferable, you faux-philosophical fuck.”  
  
“You thought you were so smooth, so _discrete_. But I always knew.” He folding his arm over his stomach, planting the elbow of his smoke-hand on his wrist. “ I was nothing more that a starter-dick to you.”  
  
Nathan slammed his fist into the side of the van, inches from Magnus’s face. The metal gave beneath his hand with a mighty _crunch_ ; within the vehicle, he heard a bark of surprise. Magnus leapt back, startled, but Nathan filled the space. He loomed, so close he could see the dark specks of stubble around the outer edges of his goatee. The far off lights of the camp cut shadows across his face, his milky eye a dull marble shooter. Nathan felt the tiniest piece of him snap, like the bone of a baby bird.  
  
"That's not what you were,” he intoned. "You _know_ what you meant to me."  
  
The mask slipped, and Nathan saw the actual human beneath. The one who visited when he was laid up at his parents’ house, recovering from his first liver transplant. Who playfully questioned his taste in music when he caught a glimpse of the old band posters plastered across his room. Who squeezed beside him in his childhood bed, pointing out constellations in the faded glow-in-the-dark ceiling stars. Nathan remembered how he’d combed his hands through his hair, clipping the ends between his index and middle finger, and brushing the stiff wedge against his cheek.  
  
“You’ve got to cut this, man,” he’d said.  
  
“No! I’m trying to grow it out!”  
  
“It’s not gonna grow out unless you cut it!”

“That doesn’t make any sense. How does making something _shorter_ make it _longer_. It’s stupid and you’re stupid for thinking it.”  
  
“Because all of this is _dead_. Once you hack that off, the healthy hair will grow in faster!”  
  
“I like having something dead on me. It’s like, the black sledgehammer of mortality, swinging right in front of my face. A constant reminder that death lurks always on the horizon.”  
  
“You’re so young,” he’d laughed as he reached an arm over his body, mindful of the still-raw seam of stitches across his front. “You’re so _god_ damn young.”  
  
The sound of the automatic window rolling down brought Nathan back to the present. Pickles lurched out, half his body visible as he steadied himself on the side mirror for balance.  
  
“Hey Nate, we should prahbly hit the road,” he said. “Traffic, et ceterah.”  
  
“Yeah I’m coming.”  
  
Pickles narrowed his eyes. “Are ya?”  
  
“ _Yes_.”  
  
“Are ya reeeeeally comin’? Like, inna next 30 seconds, or–”  
  
“ ** _Yes_** , Pickles, alright! I’ll be right there, **get out of here**.”  
  
Pickles clucked his tongue, but wriggled his way back inside. Nathan waited for the quiet _shush_ of the window closing once more before speaking.  
  
"Hey,” he mumbled. Magnus regarded him coolly, the mask returned. “ I still, uh. I still think about you. Whenever I get a liver transplant, that is."  
  
"That's cute." He took a long, final drag, stubbed it out against the back tire, and flicked it into the darkness. "I don't think about you at all."  
  
Nathan rolled his eyes, walking around the back of the car to avoid Pickles’ gaze. He bumped his shoulder against Magnus’s, forcefully, as he passed. "I don’t even know why I bother."  
  
To his dismay, Magnus trailed him, hovering just beyond the left taillight. Nathan swung the driver door open, thumbing through his ring of keys. He had one foot in the van when Magnus cleared his throat.  
  
"I'll see you around, Nathan."  
  
Nathan gripped the door handle. He didn’t look up.  
  
"No you won't." The door crashed shut.  
  
Nathan inhaled to his lungs’ capacity. He banged his head to the steering wheel once, twice, once more so his brain buzzed from the impact. Toki wore the slack-jawed stare he got when he was about to ask something really fucking stupid. Before he could, Murderface clamped his hand over his mouth, shaking his head vigorously. Toki’s eyes flitted to Skwisgaar, who mouthed an exaggerated, __I’LL TELL YOU LATER.  
  
Pickles coughed. “D’ya wanna…”  
  
“ ** _No_**.” He jammed the keys into the ignition. After a false start the engine flared to life, and Nathan put the petal to the floor. He needed to get home, to his giant fucking house which he bought with his giant fucking piles of money, that he’d _earned_ from his giant fucking successful music career. __He did it.  
  
Clouds of dust floated around Magnus in the rearview mirror. Nathan watched his reflection grow smaller and smaller, a shadow, a glimmer in the darkness. Nathan kept driving, watching him vanish, until eventually, he was nothing at all.  

**Author's Note:**

> Nathan got his first liver transplant when the band was just taking off. Rose insisted he recover at home, plying him by stocking the fridge with all his favorite foods. The guys agreed. They could give a shit where he recovered, but they HAD to get in on that sweet grocery stash!


End file.
